


deactivated

by gmariam



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Amputation, Audio 029: Serenity (Torchwood), Blood and Gore, M/M, POV Second Person, Pain, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 16:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmariam/pseuds/gmariam
Summary: ...A stabbing pain in your left shoulder awakens you, jolting you from another nightmare vision, this time of Beth Halloran, the sleeper agent you'd caught months ago. Of the voice that wasn't hers, of the computerized implants boiling beneath her skin. And most of all, of her paralyzing fear, the same terror you now feel. Something is wrong...A dark and twisted followup to the Big Finish audio story, Serenity. Second person point of view with warnings for graphic violence. This is not my usual: read with caution.





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The first night after Serenity Plaza is both wonderful and terrible—as so many things with Torchwood usually are. You are so glad to be gone from that place, to be back in your own flat, that you almost dance around the room laughing with joy. Your books, your movies, your music are all where they belong, ready to enjoy again; the old pillows and threadbare blanket are on the lumpy sofa, still needing to be replaced. The tiny kitchen will prove difficult for rolling pasta and marinating kebabs, but you can't wait to order take away from the nearest pizza place anyway. Maybe you will even sit around in your pajamas with the windows wide open for everyone to see while you eat without a plate and drink beer straight from the bottle.

Your bed looks smaller, but for the first time in weeks you have it all to yourself. Which is when it all goes south and you realize being back is not everything you'd expected. You usually love the quiet solitude, living alone, doing what you want to and when you want to, yet after a month of sharing a house with Jack and several dozen exceptionally nosey neighbors, the silence is almost smothering. You're not sure what to do with your time, and having the bed to yourself is all good until you roll over and no one is there—no warm body, no quick shag. Waking up to make breakfast for one feels lonely.

Still, you tell yourself it's something you have to get used to again; the first few days of living with Jack required some getting used to as well. He's a great leader, an even better lover, but as a roommate he can leave some things to be desired. Then again, your quirks probably bothered Jack as much as his drove you mad, and really, it wasn't the two of you so much as Ken and Ifan and your adopted personas that were the real issue. You wonder what it would be like to live together as Jack and Ianto in the real world, rather than Ken and Ifan in Serenity Plaza.

A stiffness lingers from the cleanup at the estate, particularly in your left arm, and your head feels heavy, as if you didn't sleep at all. You probably pulled a muscle pulling alien bodies from the rubble, or destroying alien technology in the incinerator after. Rubbing at your arm, you take some ibuprofen, finish your coffee, and hurry out the door. You're running late because you're not used to leaving for work in the morning, but going for a run and scoping out the alien neighbors.

Still, you're first in at the Hub, so you start some coffee, which is where Jack quickly finds you. You wonder how he is doing, how he slept on his first night back on his own. And you immediately feel awful because Jack had to sleep in his tiny bunker in the cold Hub after spending the last month in a king-size bed in a posh house. Why hadn't you invited him back home with you? Why had a night apart seemed like a good idea? You will have to remedy that tonight.

Jack seems glad to see you, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling against your ear. It's only been a day—one night, really—and you find you missed that. So you turn and kiss him and you're enjoying a long, leisurely snog when a flash of vision bursts across your closed eyelids: Jack, with an alien arm impaling his dying body.

You gasp and step back, shaking it from your memory. The headache pounds at your temples and you rub your arm, as if expecting an implant to burst forth and destroy humanity. Jack is frowning at you, looking concerned. "Everything all right?" he asks.

"Yeah," you reply, though you're not exactly sure why you feel so out of sorts. "Feeling a bit off this morning, I guess."

Jack nods slowly. "Sleep okay, back at your flat?"

"Sort of?" you reply. "It was just different. Quiet. Takes some getting used to again, I suppose." You smile, trying to reassure him all is well. "And getting up to leave for the office is something I haven't done for several weeks, so that was different as well."

"Miss your morning run?" Jack asks. You turn back to the coffee and pour him a cup, then make another for yourself.

"The run, yes. I think I might be in better shape than I've been in years." You take a sip, savoring the rich taste of the dark roast. The high-end coffee maker you'd purchased for Serenity Plaza had nothing on the ancient machine in the Hub, and you are once again glad to be back where you belong. Life in the suburbs is not for you, and never will be. "But the neighbors? Not at all."

"No," Jack agrees, shaking his head ruefully. "I don't miss them either. Although—"

"Don't say it," you tell him, holding up a hand. "Because there was no way we were ever swinging with Bob and Mary."

"Could've been interesting." Jack grins, but you know he is having you on after his surprisingly sincere words back on the estate. Then again, you're still trying to imagine him _not_ joining in on a neighborhood sex party, as if he actually had the self-control to simply watch. Right.

Smiling to yourself, you head over to your station, ready to start the day. A twinge in your neck bothers you and you twist your head, eliciting a loud and uncomfortable crack. The headache flares and you squint, the lights suddenly feeling too bright. But you already took something for it earlier so you wait it out, hoping another—and better—cup of coffee will help you settle.

Only it doesn't. Lunch is unappetizing, and by the time you've had half, you're done and feel nauseous. You are also unexpectedly tired and half wonder if returning to the real world of Torchwood has given you some sort of illness, something you lost your immunity to whilst living in the fantasy world of Serenity Plaza. Or maybe it is simply the letdown, the crash after the adrenaline rush of blowing up an entire neighborhood, destroying a race of alien invaders, and saving the planet once again for little gratitude.

You struggle to stay awake, to work, to even move. Maybe it's the flu; maybe it's an alien flu. You feel hot and head down to the cool quiet archives instead of talking to Owen. You know you should, especially if you've been exposed to something, but you put your head down and fall asleep almost instantly.

A stabbing pain in your left shoulder awakens you, jolting you from another nightmare vision, this time of Beth Halloran, the sleeper agent you'd caught months ago. Of the voice that wasn't hers, of the computerized implants boiling beneath her skin. And most of all, of her paralyzing fear, the same terror you now feel. Something is wrong.

You need to get to Owen, you shouldn't have put it off. Staggering upstairs, you feel something inside you, something dark and heavy and _evil_ trying to drag you under the water of conscious thought. You fight it, resist it, but it pushes and pulls and claws at your mind until your head feels ready to burst. You can barely stand upright but stumble into the Hub, crying out in pain, shouting for help, for Owen, for Jack, for anyone.

But they are too late. You curl in upon yourself as the malevolent _thing_ takes over your body first, your arm erupting in agony and fire. The skin bubbles and burns, twisting and turning unnaturally as it opens to reveal a glowing computerized implant.

"No," you whisper, your voice barely your own. You can feel it being taken away, feel the thing inside forcing its will on you, pushing you deeper and deeper into the water. "No!" You shout it this time, your other hand ripping at the implant, fingernails tearing the burning skin of your forearm until it bleeds. You beat and scratch and pull at it, shouting incoherently through the pain. You resist it with all of your being.

And then Jack is there, hands on your shoulders, his lips moving though you can't hear him through your own screams. Owen is behind him, and the others, and suddenly you feel something else, a horrible sliding and grinding as fresh agony bursts from where your hand used to be, where your fingers are now a stump of wooden flesh. You cannot watch as your arm erupts into a weapon, sliding straight into Jack's chest with a sickening sound.

The look on his face is one of surprise, and panic, and horror. All you can see and hear and feel is heartbreak, literally and figuratively. That this is happening again, that Jack is dying at your own alien hand. Jack will come back, but you…you are changing. The thing inside is taking over, laughing at you from inside your own head. It will begin its conquest here at the Hub, with the power of the Rift as its weapon. It will take over the world, just as it planned, but Torchwood will not be able to stop it.

No, you scream inside your mind. You will not let it win. Not for Cardiff, for the world, and especially for your team. You will not be their death and downfall. You will stop it. You hold it back by sheer determination, filling your mind with images of victory and defeat, of every time Torchwood won and they lost. You refuse, you resist.

It laughs at you again.

"Cut it off," you gasp, your throat burning with pain as it tries to hold back your words. Tosh gasps, Gwen's hand flies to her mouth. Owen stares at you, but you know it's the only choice. "Do it!" you shriek as it twists your mind, forcing you to fight the impulse to lunge and stab and kill. You will not be the death of your friends, your family. You resist.

Owen runs to the medical bay, bless him, and returns with a bone saw, the one from the future the Rift had spit out last year, apparently just for this moment. The thing inside you turns on him, forcing him back with a snarl. He tosses it over your head, to where Jack is now standing—alive but barely—right behind you. You whirl, and are struck by excruciating, scorching pain worse than any yet as Jack slices his hand down through the air. He shouts and sobs and there is blood everywhere as something horrible falls to the floor.

Then Owen is behind you and there is a prick of pain in your neck that is the most heavenly pain you've ever felt, because you know what it is. "Thank you," you whisper as you collapse into the remains of your old life. You do not know if it is death that is taking you, or merely sleep, but you are grateful, for they stopped you. They stopped the thing inside you. Cell 114 will not win, not this time, and if you must pay the ultimate price to stop them, then you are more than willing because you have saved the others. You think Jack is holding you, but you are not sure.

"Thank you."

And then there is only darkness, but this time you do not resist.

* * *

The first night after Serenity Plaza was both wonderful and terrible—as so many things with Torchwood usually are. You are glad to be gone from that place, back in Cardiff, yet you did not expect it to be so hard.

You do not miss the over-managed estate of zombified pseudo-aliens, but you miss having a house of your own, someplace to call home, someplace safe and reliable where you can retreat to after work and relax. You miss almost having a normal life. And you miss Ianto more than anything.

Stil, it was one night. You've spent the last month together pretending to be two people you are clearly not, so a night apart won't kill you. If it was too cold in the bunker beneath the Hub, then you'll have to get more blankets for those nights spent on your own. And if it was lonely, well…you will see Ianto as soon as he comes in to work. You are not some lovesick schoolboy who can't live a few hours without your crush.

When Ianto comes in, you find you are totally a lovesick schoolboy, but at that moment, you don't care. You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss his ear and are so glad he's back and with you that you forget the long, lonely night.

Ianto seems happy to see you as well, and you enjoy a leisurely kiss, reveling in the other man being back at the Hub where he belongs. And then Ianto steps back, as if he's had an electric shock, and things go downhill from there. He says he's just getting used to being back, and you understand that, but he seems unwell. He does not eat much at lunch and moves slower and slower, looks more and more pale, until he disappears into the archives like a wounded animal. You are about to go down to check on him when there is a phone call from the Home Office, the one you've been dreading, where they rail at you for the death and destruction in Serenity Plaza and you angrily point out that Torchwood saved the world yet again and the conversation ends with empty threats before you slam the phone down.

Only before the conversation can devolve to its dramatic finish, there is shouting in the Hub. You hang up with a terse apology and run from your office to find Ianto screaming on the floor, clutching his arm as he shouts for help. His arm is glowing.

No. You shake your head, refusing to accept the horror before you, refusing to believe it's possible, but Ianto's left arm is pulsing with the orange glow of a Cell 114 implant. How could this happen? Was he converted in Serenity Plaza? How did he not activate? Why now? You sprint over to him, take his shoulders, whisper words of—what? Strength? Encouragement? Love? He has to fight it, you tell him to fight it, that you will do anything, everything, to help him, to stop what's happening to him, to—

A stabbing pain shoots through your chest, literally taking your breath away. You glance down to an awful, but familiar, sight: an alien implant, covered in blood as it pulls from your body with a sick squelching sound and you crumple to the ground, blood pooling around you.

"Cut it off!" Ianto gasps, doubling over in pain. No one moves. "Do it!" he shrieks, the pain in his voice lancing through you and worse than anything else. You force yourself to your hands and knees as Owen runs to the medical bay. You try to say something to Ianto, but nothing comes out, and he is clearly battling the demon inside him. You slowly stand as Owen returns. Ianto turns on him with a growl and Owen throws you the bone saw, not even pausing to get visual permission, knowing you will catch it and you will do it. You grab it from the air as Ianto turns, and with a sob of apology, you slice through skin and bone with the alien tool, and the horrific nightmare falls to the ground in a fountain of blood and gore.

"Thank you," Ianto whispers as he falls, Owen standing behind him with a needle. You collapse beside him, pulling him onto your lap, biting back hysteria and pain as Ianto's eyes close and his breathing slows. "Thank you," he whispers again. You bow your head as tears fall onto his face, but Owen will not let you have your moment of peace.

"Get him downstairs," the doctor orders. You cannot stand; the hole in your chest has not completely healed, and Owen swears as he shouts at Tosh and Gwen to snap out of it and help him. Somehow, they get Ianto's body down the stairs. You fall to your side, wanting desperately to move but needing to heal first. There is wet, sticky blood everywhere and the smell is enough to make you sick, vomiting into the surreal mess. Frantic shouting from the medical bay finally rouses you to try and move.

You crawl to the stairs, where Gwen sees you and helps you stumble down. She puts her arm under your shoulder so you can stand at Ianto's bedside, clutching his good hand and staring at his pale face. But he is breathing, his heart is beating. Owen has done something to stabilize him and is hooking up another IV drip, his hands shaking as he swears under his breath the entire time.

"Tosh," you finally manage, your voice barely a croak. "Check the implant. Make sure it's not on, not working. Stop it."

Owen swears again as she hurries off. "As if chopping off his arm wasn't enough, now we have to worry about it haunting us?"

"We don't know how it works," you reply wearily. "I just want to be sure."

"It's still transmitting!" Tosh yells from upstairs.

"Blow it to hell!" Owen shouts back, and ten seconds later three shots blow it apart, sending bits of flesh and bone into the medical bay. Ianto jerks and seizes and flat lines, but before Owen can even step forward to start reviving him, Ianto gasps and opens his eyes. They are filled with pain, but they are clear, they are his.

You run a bloody hand along his face, lean over to kiss his forehead. "It's over," you tell him, and you will make sure. Owen will run every test possible and you will go to the ends of the universe to fix anything these bastard aliens did to him. "You're alive, and you're going to be all right."

Ianto can't talk due to the oxygen mask over his face, but his eyes are wide and filled with fear. "Tosh destroyed the implant, and we will make sure everything else is gone," you reassure him. "I promise. You have to keep fighting, though, all right, Ianto? Stay with us, with me."

Ianto nods, then he reaches up with his right hand to briefly take off the mask. "As long as I don't have to sleep alone," he says. "Too quiet." You can't help it: you burst out laughing, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"It was pretty damn cold downstairs, so I'll take you up on that," you tell him, and he nods, and puts the mask back on, and closes his eyes. You panic, but his hand comes up and moves the mask again.

"I'm tired, not dead," he says.

"Any pain?" asks Owen. There are so many drips hooked up behind him that it's a wonder if Ianto can feel anything. But you know that there will be pain, from what he's just experienced. The pain of possession, of losing a limb, of a life irreversibly changed.

"I lost my arm," Ianto said, his words starting to slur. "I can't feel a thing." His eyes flip open, suddenly panicked. "I'm sorry," he says, voice breaking into a sob. "I'm sorry I stabbed you, that I forced you to—to—and now I'm—" He screws his eyes shut, his mouth pressed into a hard line as tears fall from the corner of his eyes. Gwen is shaking silently as she supports you.

You lean down once more. "I'm sorry I had to do it," you say, your voice unsteady, but you can't help it. You are still terrified you will lose him. "But I had to save you. I'm not about to lose you now. Not knowing how you cook."

A ghost of a smile plays at Ianto's lips. "Thank you," he says again. "For saving me. I don't want to lose you either. Not knowing how you look washing the car."

Gwen's sobs burst out as a laugh and Owen groans and you cry harder, leaning over to kiss him. "You're not losing me," you tell him. "We'll get through this and I will wash the car any time you want."

"I'll hold you to it," Ianto murmurs, and this time you sense he is really about to sleep. "With my other arm, that is."

And that's when you know it will be all right. It will be hard and painful and there will be days when the guilt threatens to destroy you both. But Ianto is the strongest man you know and he will not only survive, he will beat any obstacle, any challenge. And you will be there to support him every step of the way. He stabbed you in the heart and you cut off his alien arm, but you are Torchwood: you keep calm and carry on.

"Sleep well, boyfriend," you murmur with one last kiss, and Ianto smiles as he slips into sleep. Owen tells you to lay down, or check on Tosh, or start cleaning up the mess, anything to get out from under his feet. You nod and sit down on the steps instead. Gwen goes upstairs to help Tosh, and you lean against the stairs and watch Owen, thinking not of the horrors you just experienced, but of the healing to come. The life you will build—and rebuild—with Ianto. Because you can do anything, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is. Another example of 'Oh dear god did I actually write that'? Rest assured this is not the Serenity follow up I planned. It was spun off from the one I'm currently working on, the real one. But I got stuck, maybe because I had to vomit this thing to get it out of the way before it worked itself into the other. Many thanks to cozsheep and dinodina, who both endured my initial panic when I first started thinking about this. And Aavantares, who threw me the bone saw and also endured hearing about it. Do read some fluff while I go back to my other story, which only briefly mentions this horrific possibility. Thank you for reading - with apologies for any nightmares!


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